CHAPTER XIII THE TRUNK ROOM

The astonishing proposal of the twins took the man completely aback. He turned his head away. A choking rose in his throat, and he rubbed his eyes with the back of one hand. “Boys——” He swallowed several times before he could go on. “Boys, nobody’s ever had as much faith in me as you two are giving—— No use trying to tell you what it means to me, or trying to thank you—— But I couldn’t ask you to do it. Any help you give me will put you in reach of the law. No, I couldn’t do it. The game’s up, and I’ll just have to make up my mind to go back——”

“Here, that’s no way to talk!” put in Jerry with assumed roughness. “Now, forget everything, except that from now on, we’re going to do all we can to make you a free man.”
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The twins were glowing at the prospect of new and more daring adventure. To protect Burk, to risk everything in a dash across country, in order to prove him guiltless of the crime for which he was condemned—here was a deed the thought of which set their hearts beating wildly!

Jake outlined their campaign. “You can’t travel until you’re fed and rested, Mr. Burk. And you can’t stay here—the prison guards will be through here in a few hours. We’ll have to hide you, somewhere near camp, where you can rest up for a while. To-morrow night we’ll start! Just leave everything to us!”

“The trunk room!” Jerry burst out. “That’s the place! Nobody ever goes in there—he can sleep all day to-morrow, and even the police wouldn’t think of looking right in the camp lodge!”

“Good idea, Jerry. Now, if you think you can move, Mr. Burk, we’ll start. Here it’s raining again, which is good—it’ll wash out our tracks.”

The boys helped the dazed man to his feet, and Jerry hung his poncho over his new friend’s shoulders before helping Jake to try and remove all traces of the little camp in the woods. The small fire was soon buried in mud and brush; the lean-to was pushed over and pulled apart, and the branches scattered as far as possible. Taking the ax, Jake led the way back along the muddy trail to the boat.
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The little party found the shore of the lake without mishap, and pushed off through a steady drizzle. Burk seemed lost in a daze. Only once did he speak on the return journey.

“Did—didn’t you say something, back there, about a reward?”

“Sure,” the boy whispered. “You must have guessed they would offer some money for your capture. That’s why we’ll have to keep you out of sight all the time, until you find that necklace. Now, better not talk any more—that prison guard might spot us.”

The campus was undisturbed; no light showed anywhere through the rain. It was probable that the twins had not been missed, and stood a good chance of returning to their bunks undetected. Both boys were busily planning their new adventure, and first and foremost in their thoughts was the safety and comfort of the man they had promised to aid.
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Between the pillars supporting the downhill end of the lodge, a loosely-boarded structure had been built next to the dark-room. This large space was used for storing the trunks, suitcases, and warbags which had served to transport the outfits of the campers from their homes. The trunk room was seldom entered during the season. Jerry’s idea of hiding Burk in this place, directly beneath the feet of the campers as they assembled for meals, was not in reality such a dangerous scheme. Unless he took to the open woods again, there was no other place on the Lenape campus which afforded such secrecy and protection. All the man had to do was to lie here snugly, resting and regaining his strength, and unless he made a suspicious noise, he might go undiscovered for some time.

Jake pushed the door open a crack and tiptoed softly inside. The others entered behind him, and Jerry snapped on his light. Their shadows stretched gigantically across the rough floor and scaled the heaps of piled trunks and suitcases. Dry, warm, protected, and seldom entered, here was a good refuge for the outlaw.

“If you hear anybody coming, you can hide behind a pile of trunks,” pointed out Jerry. “You can easily stay here until to-morrow night. Jakie, you see if you can make him comfortable. I’ll be right back.”
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Jerry left them, and went to the kitchen. His hunch was a good one. On one of the tables he located a pile of pans and dishes which had been brought in by the late-returning hikers that evening. His guarded flashlight revealed that much unused food had also been returned. He found a pan half full of beans, an untouched loaf of bread, some butter and jam, and a can of pineapple which he opened before returning with his trove to the trunk room.

“Food,” he announced. “This will hold you down for a while, Mr. Burk. We’ll try to bring more to-morrow, if we can do it safely. In the meantime you can be having a long sleep.”

“I found a good place,” said Jake. He pointed to a far corner of the room, where an old, patched canvas, the remains of a worn-out tent, was folded to form a rough bed. Burk wore Jake’s sweater over his wet garments. The man had seized eagerly upon the food, and was stowing it away in short order.

“These boards may not be the softest bed in the world, but at any rate, it’s better than the wet ground on a night like this,” Jake went on. “I guess you’ll be able to sleep. But be careful not to stir around too much. All day to-morrow, until taps, there will be at least a dozen fellows around within a few feet of this place. And to-morrow night, when everybody’s asleep, we’ll come and get you.”
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“And to-morrow, some time, we’ll smuggle in some decent clothes, and a razor, and everything,” added Jerry. “Anything else you want?”

Burk, his mouth full of food, shook his head.

“Well, then, good night! And to-morrow——”

The two boys went to the door. Burk rose and ran to them, seized their hands. His voice shook, and he made no effort to hold back the tears that welled in his eyes.

“Good night, boys—and God bless you! God bless you!”

When Sherlock Jones awoke in the cold, gray morning, a few minutes before Reveille, he had a feeling that something tremendous was going to happen that day. The first thing his prying eyes lit upon was one of Jake Utway’s boots, lying carelessly on the floor of the tent. The boot was caked with sticky black mud almost to the knee. He pondered this mysterious circumstance at odd moments during the morning, without any satisfactory conclusion as to what Jake might have been doing in the dead of night that would put his footgear into such a state.
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His feeling that great things were impending returned to him again and again as the morning passed. The customary line-up for the flag-raising was held on the lodge porch, as the rain was still dripping from low-lying banks of cloud; but along toward morning swim-time the sky cleared slightly, and by lunch a watery sun had appeared, to dry up the muddy campus.

All the time Sherlock had been on the job. Not once had the Utway twins been out of his sight.

At lunch, however, he came upon another clue. Jake appeared to be unusually hungry; it seemed almost impossible for him to satisfy his appetite. The long-nosed detective did not link this fact with the further fact that Jake’s blouse, when he rose from table, bulged suspiciously in front.

After the meal, Sherlock moodily retired to the dark-room, his favorite spot in which to think over his information, and to “deduce” results therefrom. So far, he had little to go on.

He listened idly for a few moments to the song of the care-free black boy up in the kitchen. That brought to mind the recent robbery of the pantry. Might this have something to do with the Utway case?

A great light suddenly burst upon Sherlock Jones. A convict might be badly in need of food. And an escaped fugitive might well serve as a secret accomplice——
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A creaking noise near him in the darkness brought him to wide-awake alertness. Sherlock strained his ears, eager to catch any further sound. Absolute silence followed. For a few moments the boy stood motionless; then he softly tiptoed to the door, and flung it open. The Utway twins were in sight, strolling easily down toward their tents.

They had come from the trunk room! It had been their footsteps he had heard. But what was their business there? Had they hidden something? Perhaps the swag of some midnight burglary, something that might incriminate them surely and swiftly?

Yes, the trunk room was assuredly the key to all the problems that confronted the amateur sleuth. Without making a sound, he stepped to the door of the trunk room.

It was a foolish step for young Detective Jones to make. Yet, whatever his other failings, Sherlock could not be accused of lack of courage. He turned the knob and pushed cautiously inside.
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At first he could see little; it was not until his eyes were accustomed to the dimness of the room that he made out a heap of food on the floor, piled high on a paper napkin. Food! For whom? For what? He allowed the door to swing behind him, and bent forward to look more closely. He was not aware of a shadowy body that crouched at his side, tense, ready to spring on him from behind a heap of stacked trunks.

Sherlock Jones did not have a chance to cry out. A muscular arm circled his throat with a choking clasp. A bit of cloth was rammed into his open mouth; wiry arms clutched his own with a grip like that of a steel trap. His wild struggles were of no avail. He fell to the floor of the room, borne down by a strength greater than his own. As he fell, he saw—or did he dream?—that he was caught in the power of a stranger whose face was invisible, but on whose arm was tattooed the design of a flying eagle.